Breaking the Rules
by KneazleGriff
Summary: Harry has a problem. To resolve it, he seeks assistance from another. Things get complicated when that assistance ends up being contingent upon his own aptitude for rule-following. After all, everyone knows that some rules should never be broken while others... beg to be. HPSS
1. Chapter 1

**Breaking the Rules**

**Summary: **Harry has a problem. To resolve it, he seeks assistance from another. Things get complicated when that assistance ends up being contingent upon his own aptitude for rule-following. After all, everyone knows that some rules should never be broken while others... beg to be. HPSS

**Appreciation: **A big thank you to **YenGirl** for taking time to beta this story. Your thoroughness and literary creativity is always so appreciated, Yen! :)

**Rating: **Rated M for heavy slash. Mature readers only, please.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, except for Julien Bellamy, aka 'The French Menace.' He's all mine!

**A/N: **This story will be posted in four separate chapters. It assumes cannon (mostly), but disregards the epilogue. My beta, Yen, describes this fic as a 'whole load of sensual fun.' I do hope you agree!

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**Chapter One**

Harry spent most of his nineteen years relying on no one but himself when faced with a problem.

This independent way of thinking had served him quite well during his early childhood, though in truth, life with the Dursleys, lonely as it was, offered very few alternatives.

In later years, after befriending Ron and Hermione, he learned that there were people out there worthy of his trust, people he could lean on for support when things were at their darkest. This was an invaluable lesson to learn, considering an evil, megalomaniac had been out for his blood throughout most of his adolescence. Harry knew he never would have made it through all six of his Hogwarts years, or that horrible year on the run that followed them, if he hadn't taken that lesson to heart.

Life or death situations aside however, Harry found that most problems could be resolved in true Gryffindor style – confronting them head-on and nipping them in the bud, so to speak. Not that he wasn't grateful for the abiding support of his friends, but some situations were best dealt with solo.

One of them was figuring out what to do next after the previously mentioned megalomaniac, whose divined destruction had been Harry's sole purpose for living, perished by way of his own killing curse.

Another was how best to tell your current girlfriend that you're gay.

In hindsight, Harry knew he hadn't dealt with either situation very well. He had done his best with the first one amid the whirlwind of confusion and disbelief following Voldemort's demise. He had done far worse with the second one however and even now, wasn't quite sure why he had chosen to break the news of his sexual preference to Ginny at the Hogs Head! Perhaps he had hoped that the crowded pub would curtail the eruption of that famous Weasley temper and delay the inevitable storm of emotion from surfacing.

Holy Merlin, had he been wrong!

He was pretty certain Ginny's exclamation of 'You're gay?!', screamed at an ear-piercing volume and repeated over and over again was heard not only by all the patrons of the Hogs Head – sitting frozen in shock and staring at the pair of them with jaw-dropping, awe-struck fascination – but by the entirety of Hogsmeade village as well. And following the tradition of every juicy tidbit involving everyone's favorite Wizarding hero – this particular tidbit juicier than most as it presented itself hot on the heels of his triumphant victory over Voldemort – by the next morning, every Wizarding newspaper, magazine and radio network was trumpeting his preference.

_The Boy Who Lived: Gay!_

Despite that mortifying setback, Harry stayed the course, doing what he had to in order to get his life together while trying to be true to his heart. He was relieved to find he had retained the support of his best friends and was still welcomed at the Burrow albeit under a rather strained atmosphere. Over the next few weeks, he was even prepared to ignore the influx of mail that flooded his mailbox, composed of both positive and negative reactions to his accidental coming out. What he wasn't wholly prepared for however, was the sheer stress of trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

The realization that he had had enough of chasing Dark wizards meant that a career as an Auror was out, a worrying prospect seeing as that was the only Wizarding profession he had ever considered during school.

Faced with a future without a long-term plan was more than a little unnerving but in true Gryffindor fashion, Harry disregarded his trepidation and attacked the problem head on. In the months that followed, he read every Wizarding career pamphlet and job brochure he could get his hands on, researching each career's job functions and responsibilities, as well as their hiring requisites. When he realized that most careers worth a damn required NEWTs he had not taken, he was still not fazed, going directly to the newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall to ask for her permission to take the NEWTs with the current seventh years, regardless of not having attended his final year of schooling.

He should have realized she would deny his request – the upcoming NEWTs were only a few months away at the time – but at least she agreed to let him take _next year's NEWTs_, insisting that even if he wasn't going to attend classes, he would need time to prepare for the tests.

Of course her generous offer came with a condition... that he agree to take on a teaching position that had been vacant since the Final Battle.

At first, Harry's face had split in two, his grin huge as his mind latched onto what he considered to be the only possible position she could be referring to.

_Harry Potter – Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor!_

Yes, this was something he could do! And not just until such time as McGonagall permitted him to sit for his NEWTs, but for good – as a career! He had truly enjoyed teaching the DA back in fifth year. This would no doubt be much more challenging than their secret defense association and a hell of a lot more work, but he knew he had found the answer to his problem!

It was his calling.

It was his destiny.

And his complete and utter chagrin when the she spoke her next words.

"Yes. I have had quite a difficult time trying to fill the Muggle Studies post. But since you were raised as a Muggle, Harry, I'm certain you will do an exemplary job indeed."

"But... but what about the Defense job?" Harry protested, trying hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "I mean, that Death Eater bloke Carrow taught it last year. Who's teaching it now?"

"The same person who taught it during your last year here, Harry – Severus Snape."

That little bomb nearly leveled Harry to the ground. He'd heard of people fainting when they were given shocking news and had even seen it happen on Muggle TV or in the cinema, but before that moment, he'd honestly thought himself immune to that type of histrionic display.

He wasn't.

When he next opened his eyes, he found himself in the familiar surroundings of the Hospital Wing, sprawled out on a bed with a throbbing pain at the back of his skull and the amused faces of both Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey peering down on him.

Once he had gathered himself enough to sit up, his color and strength slowly returning to him, Pomfrey handed him a Headache Reliever while McGonagall proceeded to explain to him how the impossible was indeed possible – namely, how the hell Snape had survived being attacked by Nagini.

As it turned out, the old bat of the dungeons had been well aware that Voldemort would eventually tire of his favorite spy and had planned for it in true Slytherin fashion. When he wasn't trying to protect the students from the Carrows or pretending to do the Dark Lord's bidding, Snape had spent his time experimenting with an altered form of the Draught of Living Death.

Harry wasn't certain he followed all the details explained to him by the Headmistress, but he understood enough of them to get the gist: the man had faked his death. On the night of the Final Battle, he pre-dosed himself with a combination of blood replenishers, antidotes to Nagini's venom, wound healing elixirs laced with phoenix tears and his own time-lapsed, self-triggered Draught of Living Death so that when the time came that he was mortally injured, he could slip into a fabricated quietus that would fool the masses – Death Eaters, Voldemort and Harry alike – while his body healed itself. The bastard then took off in order to avoid any type of publicity, favorable or otherwise, only to return to Hogwarts a month later, as good as new and requesting his old job back.

By then of course, Harry had already done his best to clear Snape's name and reinstate him as war hero instead of villain, so McGonagall was only too happy to welcome her former colleague back with open arms. What a piece of work this guy was!

It was inevitable that Harry took the Muggle Studies teaching job, even though its curriculum was not his first choice. At least he was teaching, something he enjoyed and was pretty good at. And at least he was back at Hogwarts, the place he had always considered home.

In truth, being offered the Muggle Studies post was a far cry better than being offered the other position that had been vacant since the war. Not that Professor McGonagall would have ever wanted Harry to teach History of Magic. His OWL score in the subject – D for dreadful – nearly guaranteed that, not to mention his propensity for falling asleep in almost every single lesson.

Like Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts, the History of Magic job was without a professor following the Final Battle. No one knew what happened to Professor Binns. He disappeared just days after the attack on Hogwarts. Nearly Headless Nick mentioned to Harry his theory on the ghost teacher's abrupt absence. He thought perhaps Binns had witnessed so much death during the battle, that he finally realized the truth of his own demise and opted to move on. Whether Nick was correct or not, the reality was that Hogwarts had found herself without a History of Magic professor for the first time in nearly two centuries.

That is, until Headmistress McGonagall hired Julien Bellamy to fill the position just two days prior to the start of the current winter term. She had employed a few interim professors before that, but none of them were qualified enough to teach the subject full-time. In that regard, Bellamy was a perfect find as he was widely referred to as the Wizarding World's most acclaimed and foremost French Magical Historian – or as Harry had taken to referring to him – the French Menace.

This unpleasant thought yanked Harry's mind away from his drift down memory lane and snapped it right back to the problem at hand – the first problem he'd faced since trying to locate all Voldemort's horcruxes that had him thoroughly stumped and feeling way over his head. And Merlin, how he _hated_ having to ask for help, but there was nothing else for it. This was not one of those problems to be dealt with alone, and after nearly a month of trying, no one knew that better than him.

Bracing himself for the inevitable mockery he would no doubt receive, Harry lifted his chin in determination, took a deep, steadying breath and then raised his fist to the heavy oak door he'd been staring out for the last ten minutes, knocking three times.

"Enter," came a deep monotone voice from within.

The moment Harry pushed open the door and entered the defense office, a pair of dark, cavernous eyes snapped up, pinning him with a cold, piercing look.

"Potter," Snape intoned, one corner of his mouth edging upward in his typical sneer, "to what do I owe this honor?"

Harry swallowed hard past the lump in his throat while doing his best to counter the sardonic glare leveled at him. He had largely avoided his former Potions professor since returning to Hogwarts for this very reason, having no desire to endure anymore harsh rebukes and scathing criticism while struggling to find his way in a new career. Their interactions so far had consisted of silent sneers on Snape's part and distant nods on his whenever their paths crossed in the staff room, the Great Hall or the corridors.

Now that his needs dictated a change in that tactical approach, Harry found himself feeling more than a little anxious, his famed Gryffindor courage beginning to erode. Nevertheless, he took a few more steps into the room, nearing the forbidding man who sat motionless behind his desk, quill in hand and eyes narrowed. The tentative threads of Harry's steadfast resolve were unraveling rapidly now, but he held fast, determined to get through this. He had exhausted all efforts, after all; this truly was his last resort.

"I came to ask for your help, Snape," he announced and then swallowed thickly again, throat burning from the small action. Why the bloody hell was his throat so damned tight?

The man's penetrative eyes widened in apparent surprise before narrowing to mere slits a second later, that crooked sneer widening to an all-out smirk that seemed to radiate pure mirth. He leaned back in his chair after placing his quill down on his desk, long arms folding across his chest and head cocking to one side. It was clear he found the idea of Harry needing his help positively delightful.

"And what, pray tell, can I help you with... _Professor Potter?"_

_And there was the mockery he'd been expecting._

"Listen, Snape, I wouldn't have come to you unless I was really in a bind, OK? So spare me the derision for once. Would you?"

"Fine. Ask your favor and then be gone. I have grading to do and unlike _your_ essays, _mine_ actually require a modicum of intelligent analysis to accurately assess. So get on with it."

_Yes. More mockery. Great!_

Taking a deep breath to temper his rising irritation with the man in front of him, Harry blurted out his request, Gryffindor courage now hanging by a frayed thread.

"I need you to help me get Bellamy off my back."

The black eyes widened again and then Snape laughed – a full, gut-busting, doubled over, tears in the eyes kind of laugh.

The sight and sound of it had Harry seeing red, fury pulsing through his veins, but he kept his mouth shut and his temper in check. Lashing out wouldn't get the man to comply, after all. He stood there in a stony silence and waited it out, the realization that he was one of very few who had witnessed Snape being this amused doing little to cool his pique.

At length, Snape stopped laughing and cleared his throat, blinking a few times and placing a fist to his still grinning lips in an obvious attempt to quell his amusement. Then he looked up at Harry, his eyes narrowing again as if trying to puzzle out some great mystery.

"You're serious?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm serious!" Harry blurted out, his frustration finally finding release. "I can't take it anymore, Snape! The guy's relentless! I can't go anywhere outside my own quarters without him hounding me. He won't leave me alone and he won't take no for an answer!"

"File a complaint with Minerva, then. If the halfwit's behavior is truly unwanted as you say it is–"

"Of course it's unwanted! You saw him last Sunday at our staff meeting. Hell, you sat right next to us; you had to have seen him! Do you honestly think I like him grabbing my knee under the table like that?! And Christ – the looks he gives me!" Harry was now pacing in front of Snape's desk, his intense irritation at the man three feet from him all but forgotten in favor of venting his annoyance about Bellamy. "And I _did_ file a complaint with McGonagall. She spoke with him Monday evening and told him to stop harassing me."

"I take it he didn't stop."

"No. And now he's sending me letters. Very... um... provocative letters."

Harry spun around in time to catch an elegant eyebrow rise and a spark of interest blaze in those black eyes.

"Really?" Snape purred, the corners of his thin lips inching upward again.

For a moment, their eyes locked and Harry felt an unexpected frisson of heat race up his spine, his neck and cheeks warming uncomfortably. He swallowed again. Damn, his throat was tight!

"Look, will you help get the French Menace off my back or not?"

Snape leaned back in his chair again, elbows resting on the armrests with long fingers steepled. The amused smirk was back.

"The 'French Menace', hmm? Well, what did you have in mind?"

Harry let out a fettered breath, his tension lessening a touch. At least the man was going to hear him out. First obstacle managed, then. Of course, getting Snape to agree to this next part might prove to be a bit more challenging.

"Well, I was hoping you and I could... um... stage a... a scenario of sorts," he explained, mentally berating himself for his uncharacteristic bout of nervous stammering, while trying hard to ignore the disbelieving look Snape was giving him. He took a steadying breath to calm his nerves and then continued, determined to get this all out on the table before the irascible man blew a fuse.

"Look, no one would even find out about this except Bellamy if we do it right, Snape. Just go with me to this Saturday's Valentine's staff party. We'll tell everyone we're both going stag – you know none of the other staff members who see us together would infer anything to the contrary – and then we wait for an opportune time to approach Bellamy. When it's just the three of us, we sort of give him the impression that you and I are an item. And I was thinking you could also... I don't know... threaten him a bit, too. Just to cement the deal. He seems to be intimidated by you. Strange, I know."

Harry had been staring at a nondescript spot on Snape's desk through most of his monotone speech, not quite able to meet the man's unnerving gaze as he explained his rather daring plan. Now that he was finished though, he had little choice but to look up into those fathomless pools of black, feeling very much like he was in one of his past Potions classes and about to be handed a detention for speaking out of line.

"Let me see if I have this straight, Potter," Snape drawled, his sharp features looking strangely impassive all of a sudden. That brief expression of surprise adorning his face just a minute ago had vanished. "You want me to accompany you to the Valentine's party, where we are to explain away our appearance together as a mere happenstance to any who should inquire – except Bellamy whom we are to hoodwink into believing that we are a... couple. Is that correct?"

"Yeah. That about sums it up, I guess," Harry confirmed. "So, will you do it?"

Snape snorted and looked down at his own lap, dark strands of greasy hair falling on either side of his face as he shook his head from side to side. Try as he might, Harry could not see his expression, his features now hidden from view, but he was fairly certain that same damned smirk of warped amusement was in place.

"Look," he blurted out, his anger escalating again, "if I thought there was someone else on staff here who would be willing to do this _and_ had the ability to make it appear believable, I wouldn't bother asking you. But the fact is that there is no one else! Snape – you were a spy, for Merlin's sake! Deception is in your blood! I mean, if you can fool the Dark Lord, you can fool Bellamy!"

Dark eyes peered up through a break in the veil of greasy black, staring unflinchingly into Harry's emerald orbs as if looking for something past them, as if penetrating his very soul.

Harry waited for the man to speak, his anxiety now suspended in something that felt worryingly like excitement as the silence dragged on and on, but had to be nothing more than suspense. He swallowed again, the muscles in his neck now tight enough to spasm.

"If it helps..." he muttered at last, his voice fainter than he would have wished, "I have no ulterior motives in asking you this favor. I mean..."

His throat tightened further, causing his voice to crack. He swallowed again, suddenly aware of the thin sheen of sweat dampening his forehead despite the cool air of the room. Lifting a hand, he swept his palm across it, running his fingers through his fringe afterwards in an attempt to cover up the nervous gesture.

"What I mean is... well, you know my preferences – hell, the whole Wizarding World knows my preferences. So I guess I just want to assure you that I have no intentions of... of..."

"Of doing this to get into my pants?" Snape purred, his crooked smirk suddenly taking on a more depraved appearance as he leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk, one long finger caressing the plume of his discarded quill.

Left with nothing but his tattered pride, Harry soldiered on.

"Well, I wasn't going to put it exactly in those terms, but yeah," he replied, "I figured you might be more willing to do this for me if you knew that I harbor no... um... attraction for you. No offense, of course. But I don't really think you're my type."

And it was true. Snape was definitely not his type. Not that the man didn't possess a certain unconventional appeal. Few gay wizards could deny the allure of a tall, dark and poised man who exuded confidence and power with every movement, whose magical prowess was rivaled only by his sharp intellect, whose eyes were so enigmatically dark they seemed to defy the laws governing light and depth perception. Merlin, and his mouth! With that wicked sneer of his and those delicate-looking lips and and that bone-melting deep voice and...

But... no.

No, Snape was not his type. Harry wasn't certain exactly what his type was, but he was fairly confident surly ex-professors who had loathed him for years and loathed him still were not among the possible candidates.

"No offense taken, Potter," Snape replied, smirk still in place. "And just for the record, you're not my type either."

Harry chuckled at that, forgetting himself in the sheer enormity of the understatement. "Well, yeah, obviously! Not unless I spell my hair red and take Polyjuice or something to alter my private parts!"

No sooner had his lame attempt at humor escape his mouth did Harry regret it with every fiber of his being. Snape's amusement, so blatant just seconds ago, was now draining away faster than a just released Snitch, his smirk transforming into a hard line of pursed lips, dark eyes narrowed in a death glare of immense proportions.

Not for the first time, Harry cursed his own stupidity, as well as his lack of foresight. How could he be so daft as to bring Snape's type into the conversation, when as far as Harry knew, the only soul who ever qualified as such was his own mother? Mentioning her now, even as an indirect reference, was not only tactless, it was downright rude. It also reduced his rather minimal chances of procuring the man's assistance to nothing. Less than nothing, probably.

Silence lay heavy and oppressive between them, the very air thick with an almost tangible tension. Harry spent the long, strained moments of stifling quiet staring down at his own shoes, front teeth worrying his lower lip while his fingers fiddled with the frayed edge of his jumper.

_Of all the ridiculous, rash, idiotic ideas I've ever dreamed up, this one tops them all! Honestly, what the hell was I thinking?! There's no way on earth he'll agree to–_

"I'll do it," Snape said, his words punctuating the silence as if it were a deafening roar.

Harry's head jerked back up, green eyes wide with surprise and disbelief.

Rising from his chair, Snape took a moment to smooth out his teaching robes and then walked around his desk, approaching Harry who was still rooted to the spot in shock. He halted his progression when they were just two feet from each other, piercing Harry with a menacing glare before speaking once more.

"I do have one condition, however."

Harry blinked and swallowed, trying to shake off his mental stupor as he stammered his response. "Um... OK. Yeah, sure. What's your condition?"

"That I be allowed to set the rules governing this torrid little sham of yours."

"It's hardly a torrid – wait, rules?" Harry questioned, forehead furrowed in confusion. "You mean 'rules' like how we're going to trick Bellamy... like details regarding our strategy or...?"

"No, Potter. I hardly think a complex strategy is necessary in this case; a few choice words along with a bit of shameless flirting in front of the pest should suffice," Snape explained, smirk in place again as if had never left.

"No. When I mentioned 'rules,' I was referring to a list of restrictions that will enable us to regulate our interactions with one another. You see, Potter, despite your adamance regarding your lack of attraction for me and your rather emphatic... _certainty_... that said lack of attraction is mutual, I believe it would be prudent to safeguard our interests with a set of definitive limitations."

"Um. Right. OK – but what kind of limitations are we talking about here? I mean, Snape, if we're going to fool Bellamy, we're going to have to at least appear to be infatuated with each other. If one of your rules is no touching or something, I don't see how we can pull this off."

"No, you dunderhead!" Snape spat, showing a sudden crack in his iron clad composure. "Of course I realize that touching will be essential! My rules are not prohibitive of the end goal, I assure you."

"Fine!" Harry retorted, his voice betraying a new irritation that was churning inside him. "Then just – just tell me what these bloody rules are, would you?"

He wasn't certain why the prospect of Snape having control over limiting their interactions was grating on him, but it was. A lot. Taking a deep breath, he looked away from Snape and back down at his shoes, running a hand through his unruly mop of hair once before lifting his gaze to those cavernous ebony eyes again.

"Sorry," he muttered sheepishly. "Didn't mean to snap at you like that. The truth is, I really do need your help, so unless one of your rules mandates that I cheer for Slytherin during the next Quidditch match or something, I'm game."

"As tempting as that prospect is, no. Nothing in my rules dictates a change in house allegiance. They're quite straightforward, actually."

Snape took a step back and leaned on the edge of his desk, crossing lean arms over his chest and long legs at the ankles, his face a picture of relaxed contentment. It was obvious the man was in his element giving out orders. Clearing his throat, he fixed his dark, fervent gaze on Harry and then began his itemized directive in a deep, resonating drawl.

"Number one – no holding hands. Number two –"

"Wait... wait... what? No holding hands? Really?" Harry asked, eyes wide with disbelief as he struggled to stifle a laugh. "Of all the things to forbid, you pick something as innocent and wholesome as holding hands?! Are you serious?"

Not that he had ever wanted to touch those long, potion stained fingers...

"Potter, there are only three rules on the list! Please do me the courtesy of keeping your run-at-the-mouth tendencies in check at least until I finish with the third!"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, face heating with embarrassment and feeling all of fifteen years old, "go ahead."

Snape cleared his throat again and continued.

"Number one – no holding hands. Number two – no tongue. And number three – no mind play."

Harry was pretty sure his bemusement was written all over his face. He understood rule number two completely; in fact, out of the three, it was the only one that made any sort of sense to him. If he had been permitted ahead of time to hazard a guess as to what Snape's rules would be, he would have assumed that all three of them would have been along the same lines of that one: no tongue, no kissing, no groping, no tight embraces with bodies pressed together – that kind of thing.

Not that he had ever wanted to press his body to that long black one...

Where was he? Oh yes, rule number two was no surprise at all. And as odd and out of place as rule number one still seemed to him, it was the man's _final_ rule that utterly stumped him.

Mind play?! What in the name of all four founders is mind play?

Snape snorted in obvious amusement, his lips quirking as if desperate to maintain its habitual scowl. They lost the battle after a moment, turning upward in a mirthful grin, a raucous laugh escaping them.

"Well, I suppose there's no chance of you breaking my third rule, is there, Potter? Seeing as you've no idea what it is," he commented amid hearty chortles, his pale cheeks flushed with color that didn't seem to be wholly mirth. "It's hardly surprising however. You never did put much of that Gryffindor determination into learning mind magic."

Harry just cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed in equal parts annoyance and continued confusion.

Snape straightened up from where he was leaning back on the desk and then licked his lips, prompting green eyes to fixate on that impish grin which now looked more like a seductive leer. Taking a step toward Harry, whose heartbeat had inexplicably sped up, he leaned closer to whisper in Harry's ear, his warm breath brushing against his sensitive skin as the man spoke in a low, sultry tone.

"Your ignorance in this matter is unfortunate, Potter. Mind play can be quite... _stimulating..._ especially while in the throes of full-on, penetrative sex, when your lover is deep inside your mind... and even deeper inside your arse."

At Snape's shocking words, an eruption of sensation raced up and down Harry's spine so fast he felt instantly lightheaded and disoriented. Fingers fisting in the hem of his jumper again, he swallowed thickly and breathed out a shaky breath, his face burning hot and damp with sweat again. He closed his eyes, riding out the shivers wracking his body while trying to slow his suddenly racing heart.

When at last he found the courage to re-open his eyes a full half minute later, Snape was once again sitting behind his desk, quill in hand and eyes glued to a stack of essays on his desk, looking as unmoved as he was when Harry had first entered.

"Um... OK. I-I guess I'll just go then," Harry said, voice weak and shaky. He swallowed once more, desperate to lubricate his dry, tight throat and quell his anxious stammering. He spluttered out a nervous cough and then continued. "I'll just... um... meet you at the north end of the Charms corridor this Saturday. Bellamy will need to pass by there on his way to the party. Seven o'clock OK?"

Snape still did not look up from his marking, his only response an almost imperceptible nod of his head and a gruff grunt in affirmation.

"Right," Harry muttered, turning around and heading for the door. His mind felt as though it had jammed and his body still trembled with inexplicable weakness, jolts of tingly sensations dancing on his skin and cavorting in the pit of his stomach.

And as he turned the knob and walked out into the dim corridor, closing the heavy oak door behind him, he couldn't help but wonder if this hadn't been a terrible idea.

After all, he never was very good at following rules.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N: **Chapter two of **Breaking the Rules** should be posted sometime within the next two weeks. I hope you're all enjoying it so far. Stick around. Snarry goodness coming up!

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Harry shot a nervous glance at his watch – his third in as many minutes – before bringing a hand up to his disobedient hair to try to flatten it. This too was a gesture fueled by anxiety, one that he repeated more and more often as the minutes ticked by and his unease grew.

It was only six fifty-two, eight minutes until Snape was to meet him. And in those eight minutes, Harry had no doubt he would continue to do what he had been doing for the last ten minutes while waiting for the man; standing here and nursing the beginnings of a nervous breakdown while lamenting this convoluted mess he had gotten himself into.

Of course, a few more minutes of panicked reflection was hardly worth fretting over. In the three days since his unnerving conversation with Snape, Harry had done nothing _but_ reflect. He'd spent his every waking minute in a sort of deep cogitative daze while trying to sort through the myriad of thoughts engendered from that one encounter, desperate to make some sense of it all.

It was those damned rules! Those ambiguous, enigmatic, nonsensical yet strangely enthralling rules! The first two alone were enough to send his thoughts into overdrive. Harry was still amused by the sheer juvenility of the first one – _no hand-holding _– especially when contrasted with the more predictable second one – _no tongue_. However, it was Snape's final rule and his explicit comment regarding it – not to mention Harry's own fervent response to said comment – that had Harry thrown completely off course, his mind a veritable whirlwind of confusing ideas and emotions.

No mind play.

Harry still had no clue as to what the bloody hell mind play even was, but truth be told, he was now dead curious about it. How could he not be after hearing Snape's tantalizing endorsement? But his own burning curiosity about the subject of mind play was not what had driven him into his current state of emotional panic and irritating bafflement. No – it was how Snape had acted while making that comment!

That low, seductive purr in his ear.

That hot breath huffed out against his tingling skin.

And those _words_ Snape had used... so dirty... crude... indecent! Merlin, they were practically pornographic!

The startling combination of those filthy words, spoken in that silky, liquid drawl of hot breath and low, seductive tones had caused Harry to harden more than he ever had right there in Snape's office. Later that night, in the privacy of his own shower with eyes closed and lips parted, head thrown back in ecstasy while his gripping fingers pumped an erection that refused to be ignored, he had replayed the moment when those words had escaped that cruel mouth over and over again in his own mind. The result was the most intensely pleasurable orgasm Harry had ever experienced, an explosion of white hot bliss that had him almost sliding down the tiled wall. It was immediately followed by a desperate feeling of confusion, one that would surely thrust him to the verge of madness soon if he was unable to make some sense of this mess.

Another quick look at his watch. Six fifty-eight. Two minutes. Two minutes left to decipher the madness. And Merlin, was it madness!

Not that it was madness the way his body had reacted. Disconcerting and embarrassing, yes, but he was a gay man, fresh out of the closet with not a scrap of same-sex experience – physical, emotional or mental. It was natural, even expected, that his body would react to the first real sensual stimuli he'd ever received from another man. No, his state of arousal was not the biggest factor in this conundrum, nor was the crude nature of the man's words or the fact that those words were spoken to him by a former teacher of his – teasingly and with intent to arouse.

The true madness in all this lay in the underlying implication _behind_ those shocking, erotic words.

_Mind play can be quite... stimulating... especially while in the throes of full-on, penetrative sex, when your lover is deep inside your mind... and even deeper inside your arse._

Harry had tried. He really had! He had tried to convince himself that a heterosexual man was capable of saying something like that to another man while breathing seductively on said second man's neck – perhaps under the pretense of conducting an off-color joke or an ill-conceived prank. But the more Harry tried to rationalize it in this way, the more confused and frustrated he became because the simple truth of the matter was that it just didn't fit!

No straight guy – even a tolerant one without an ounce of homophobic leaning – would ever do and say what Snape had done and said to him. It was impossible!

Hence, the logical assumption to draw here was that Snape wasn't straight at all, but gay. And _this_ was what was driving Harry to the brink of swift, all-consuming madness! Severus Snape could not possibly be gay! He had been in love with Harry's mother nearly all his life! Harry knew this to be fact; there was no chance in hell he could have misunderstood the overall message behind the man's deathbed memories. Snape's love for Lily Evans was romantic – unrequited, yes – but still romantic.

So then was it possible that Snape was bisexual? Or that his adolescent preferences had somehow changed over time?

It seemed improbable, even absurd. If anyone had posed these questions to Harry a week ago, he would have laughed himself hoarse in amusement and disbelief. Now, he was not so convinced of the idea's absurdity. Worse, any amusement the notion may have once held for him was now replaced by an intense, burning desire to know... to understand this craziness... to satisfy his own consuming curiosity and sudden longing for... for...

"It seems hell has finally frozen over. Nothing less than that could have heralded your punctual arrival for an appointment," came the deep, resonating drawl of the very man he had been thinking about.

Harry's head whipped around, his anxious ruminating fracturing into a million shreds of disparate thought as he took in the sight of the man in front of him. Snape looked, in a word... _gorgeous_... and Harry only barely managed not to gape.

As was typical for Snape, every stitch of fabric covering him was black. However, in lieu of his more traditional teaching robes, he now wore a more modern-cut, stylish robe that opened in the front to reveal form-fitting black trousers and a black silk shirt, two buttons of which were casually undone at the top. A thin silver chain hung from his neck where a silver pendant, which looked to be a curled-up snake, lay amid a smattering of fine chest hair. Boots made of rugged dragon hide leather replaced the man's usual footwear and his hair, cleaner and softer looking than Harry had ever seen it, was pulled back and tied low at the nape of his long, pale neck.

With difficulty, Harry dropped his gaze to the floor, feeling that same tightness in his throat as before. His neck muscles felt as though they were locked into place and there was a burning lump of anxiety lodged in his airway, making normal breathing and coherent speech next to impossible. He swallowed hard, noticing as he did so that his heart was now pounding at a very fast pace. Again, he brought a nervous hand up to his hair, trying once more to flatten the flyaway strands and hoping the gesture would buy him some more time, seeing as his voice seemed to have jammed... along with his brain. Again.

"I... um, yeah... I-I got here early," he replied, his voice a bit higher pitched and shakier than normal. He cleared his throat and then lifted his eyes to those dark, piercing ones, feeling his heart give a particularly hard lurch against his ribcage when he saw that they were not returning his gaze. They were traveling the length of his body instead, roving over every inch of him as if drinking him in.

Snape was checking him out. _Unabashedly_ checking him out, slowly, meticulously and with an almost indecent avidity.

Harry froze on the spot. He knew he had dressed well for the party, wearing new robes that Hermione had picked out for him – green velvet a few shades darker than his eyes, paired with a grey shirt and dark grey trousers – but his distracted mind had only one thought in it.

Snape was definitely gay. Or bisexual. One or the other. Because there is no possible way that a straight bloke would ever...

His train of thought was abruptly obliterated for the second time in less than a minute when Snape lunged at him without warning, pushing his back against the wall and pinning him there. Harry immediately felt the same arousing sensation he'd felt in Snape's office: hot breath huffed out against his neck along with a low, sultry whisper.

"Bellamy just rounded the corner. Game time, Potter."

Before Harry could even blink in acknowledgement, Snape's lips were on his neck, just below his ear, brushing against the sensitive skin with tentative, barely-there touches and warm, shaky breath. Harry found himself unable to breathe, his heart thundering in his chest and his stomach muscles taut and quivering. His eyes slid shut and his head fell back onto the stone wall, his body trembling in anticipation and desperate yearning.

Please, he thought, his heart racing and his mind pleading. _Please, just do it!_

As if wholly aware of Harry's escalating desire, as if Snape had heard his desperate entreaty inside his mind, those soft lips suddenly became firm, attacking his neck with urgent, driving kisses while a warm, wet tongue darted out, licking, caressing, teasing. Tongue and lips then slid down his neck in a long, slow decent of hungry, feverish kisses, ending their downward excursion only when they reached the base of Harry's neck where eager teeth joined in, nipping and biting at his collarbone while the man's fingers fisted the material of his shirt, drawing it roughly aside for more access. Snape's other hand was gripping Harry's hair at the nape of his neck, those long fingers clutching and squeezing, twisted around tangled raven strands.

Harry heard himself cry out – a shocked and needy, whimpering mewl. Something like embarrassment filtered in through the haze of tantalizing pleasure overtaking him and he bit down on his lower lip to prevent any further noises from escaping him, fingertips digging harder into Snape's sides to ground himself. His anxiety over needy-sounding cries was soon wiped clean from his mind, superseded by the realization of just how hard he had suddenly become. Terror flooded him when he became aware that his arousal was currently pressed against Snape's thigh. Hoping the evidence of his escalating need had gone unnoticed, Harry shifted, attempting to put some distance between their bodies.

Snape would have none of it though. He chuckled against the hollow of Harry's neck and then pushed forward with more force, driving his hips into Harry's in a swift powerful thrust, pressing him harder against the wall.

A second whimper escaped Harry's now gasping mouth as he felt the exquisite sensation of an answering hardness pressed against his own, the never-before-felt friction causing a tidal wave of pleasure to tear through his entire body, skin rippling with goose bumps.

Out of his mind entirely now, he moaned – loudly – and his hands, as if in total disregard of all logic and sensibility, grabbed onto Snape's hips, thumbs digging into the front of the man's waistband with fingers curled around the back, squeezing and gripping and pulling. Lost in the moment, completely oblivious to their surroundings or to the fact that their target audience was most likely watching, Harry threw his head back and tightened his grip on the man, thrusting his own hips forward to feel more of that hard length driving against his own.

"You like that?" Snape breathed against his neck, his voice husky and broken, breath ragged. "Yes, Harry. Show me what you want... what you need..."

"'Arry? 'Arry, iz zat you?! What iz going on here?! Get off 'im, vous putain! Get off 'im or I will 'ex you!"

The grating voice crashed through Harry's aroused stupor and wrenched him back to reality with almost violent force. His whole body stiffened, eyes snapping open and chest heaving as he whipped his head around toward the disliked owner of that voice.

Bellamy.

Despite the sluggishness of his flustered and aroused state, his mind slow to process, Harry had no problem deciphering the absolute indignation emanating from the French Menace. Bellamy was tall, slender and blond, dressed in robes of sky blue that mirrored his eyes, flamboyant lace embellishing the hems of his wrists and neckline. Right now, his eyes were cold and his wand was aimed at them.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, his torpid brain trying to come up with something to say that would persuade the man to stand down, but Snape beat him to it.

"Ah, Bellamy," he drawled, a devious grin on his wet lips, dark eyes alight with mischief and wild abandon. "I see you have once again inserted yourself into matters that do not concern you, whipping out your wand where it is most assuredly not welcome."

Harry blinked at the suggestive words, very much aware of the hand now curled around the back of his neck, fingertips tracing small circles on his hot skin as Snape leaned against the wall beside him, his demeanor relaxed, confident.

"You may run along now," Snape added in that dismissive tone he had perfected, perhaps even patented. "Harry and I would very much like to be alone."

"I will do no such thing!" Bellamy raged, taking a step closer to them with wand still aimed at them. "You... you are violating 'Arry! 'E surely does not desire your filthy 'ands touching 'im! 'E iz not meant to be your plaything; 'e iz mine!"

Familiar fury pulsed inside Harry like poison at hearing Bellamy's delusional profession voiced out in that condescending tone, burning away the aroused haze surrounding him. Before his brain could catch up with his instinct, his wand was drawn and he was lunging forward, teeth bared in a feral snarl and a dangerous hiss escaping his pulled back lips.

"You arrogant prick! I am not your damned plaything! And I wouldn't let you touch me if you were the last gay man on this earth!"

""Arry!" Bellamy pleaded, taking a step back, his free hand snapping up in supplication. "You are taking zis all wrong! I only want ze best for you. Surely zis... zis ugly Death Eater... iz not what you want. I doubt 'e iz even capable of satisfying you! I, on ze other hand, can make all your fantasies come true. You are just a boy right now, 'Arry. But I can make you a man. I can instruct you in the pleasures of loving a man. Let me be your guide, your lover, your teacher."

"That won't be necessary, Bellamy," Snape bit out, his tone now holding a sharp edge of warning as he stepped closer to Harry, approaching him from behind. He wrapped his arms around Harry's chest and pulled him back, embracing him, his hold tight... possessive... safe.

"He already has someone like that in his life. Don't you, Harry?" he asked, face turned toward his pretend lover now as if awaiting his confirmation.

A confirmation Harry was more than eager to give as he leaned back further into the man's warm embrace, his hands coming up to fold around Snape's, reinforcing the appearance of their intimacy.

"Yeah, I do," he whispered, feeling a fluttering in his stomach as he locked gazes with the smoldering eyes of the older man holding him close. With difficulty, he tore his gaze away and looked back at Bellamy, knowing he must bring his focus back to putting an end to the Menace's persistent advances.

"Severus and I are together, Bellamy," he said in a much firmer voice. "He's all I need... all I want. And he's more of a man than you'll ever be."

Harry heard Snape's in drawn hiss of breath the same instant those strong arms tightened reflexively around him, the intimate gesture prompting a new wave of heat to travel through him. His skin tingled at the telltale hardness pressing against his lower back, his already racing heart speeding up. He gave an instinctive answering squeeze to Snape's embracing arms and then continued with the game, itching now to cut to the quick, to sever all ties with his harasser.

"You're _nothing_ to me! Do you understand now? Nothing but a pathetic irritant and that's all you'll ever be. Now you'd better heed my lover's warning and run along before I decide to inform Headmistress McGonagall that you drew your wand on us. I assure you, Bellamy, she won't be pleased."

Bellamy looked as though he was about to burst, handsome face a mottled crimson and features twisted with outrage. His glacial gaze, eyes narrowed and glare hard as ice, darted from Harry to Snape and then back again before finally settling on his own wand, still gripped in his right hand. After a moment of obvious introspection, during which he was no doubt weighing his options, he lowered his wand and thrust it into his robe pocket.

"Fine! 'Ave it your way! But you will regret it, 'Arry!" he spat before spinning on his heel, retreating back down the Charms corridor from which he came.

Harry almost sagged to the floor, legs trembling as he breathed out a long and shaky sigh of relief. He closed his eyes, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks that he might finally be free from Bellamy's unwanted and distasteful attentions. As his relief started to fade, other emotions took its place – confusion, vulnerability, a curious sense of anti climax and to add to the mix, more than a touch of desperate yearning.

What now? What the hell was he supposed to do with Snape's arms still wrapped around him, holding him close, his hot breath on his neck and his heart beating an anxious cadence against Harry's back – a rhythm that was just as fast and hard as his own heart?

What was he supposed to even say to Snape, now that it was all supposed to end?

Because Harry had just realized with absolute clarity that he didn't want it to end. Not at all.

After a long moment of awkward silence, Snape withdrew from their embrace, the absence of those warm arms causing Harry to shiver. At a loss for words, Harry wrapped his own arms around his middle, a poor substitute for the intimacy they had shared only seconds earlier, and turned around in time to see Snape straightening his silk shirt which was askew and partially untucked from the waistband of his trousers.

Ignoring the surge of heat sweeping up his neck and burning his cheeks, Harry cleared his throat, waiting for those ebony orbs to lift and lock with his own. He wanted to thank Snape for his assistance, for his subterfuge, for his believability in their now completed mission, but what escaped his lips when his voice finally kicked in was far from a thank you.

"Was any of that real?" he asked, trying hard to quell the faint tremor in his voice, to mask the confused longing in his tone. "Or was it all just… just acting?"

Snape face was reposed, his features holding an open, honest appearance and Harry realized with a start that never before had he seen the man look like this. It gave him hope and strengthened his courage, a thrill of promise surging through him. Emboldened, he took a step closer, but froze as Snape's face changed in the space of a heartbeat, morphing into impenetrable impassivity, his features tight and closed off and as unapproachable as before.

"Of course it was acting, Potter," Snape replied, his tone abrasive and cutting, black eyes empty and cold. "And it worked, did it not? Bellamy won't be bothering you any longer."

"But–"

"Potter, go to the damned party and leave me be. Surely even you are intelligent enough to realize that our business together has ended and I have no intention of suffering your company any longer by accompanying you to Minerva's wretched celebration."

And then he was gone, leaving Harry to stare down the corridor after him, at the billowing black of retreating robes whose wearer had just sliced open his heart with words sharper than any blade.

There was no denying it; Snape had wrecked him. With meticulous, biting precision and carefully executed savagery, the bastard had wrecked him! Eight years of mockery and vicious remarks and not once had the man ever succeeded in making Harry feel this raw, this gutted, this torn apart.

Until now.

And all because of an elaborate deception in which Snape played his part all too convincingly: the embrace, those protective, impassioned words, the fiery want and desire in those dark eyes. All of it pure fabrication.

Harry stood there, still staring down the corridor where Snape had disappeared, his body trembling in reaction.

Even Snape's sensual assault was a farce – every passionate touch of his lips and teeth, breath and tongue. It was all a goddamn lie! It was a… it was…

Wait.

Snape used his tongue! He used his tongue and in doing so broke a rule – a rule that he himself had insisted on creating in order to provide limits to their interactions! And Merlin, he didn't just break the rule; he demolished it! The man's tongue hadn't just accidentally grazed his skin. No – it was insatiable, sliding all over his neck as if preparing to devour him.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment, his heart pounding even faster inside his chest.

Why would Snape deliberately break his own rule? It didn't make any sense!

Unless he couldn't help himself?

Unless, in the heat of the moment, he lost that tightly wound measure of control he had acquired through years of acting the part of bitter, angry spy and gave in to his true desire?

Unless he desperately wanted more and in one moment of weakened resolve, allowed himself to go after what he craved?

Then afterwards, when faced with the truth of his slip up, he reverted to his norm, to what was easy and familiar – too afraid to admit what was in his heart… too terrified of rejection… too wary of getting hurt.

A part of Harry knew he was just grasping at straws, that his desperate thoughts mirrored his situation rather than Snape's. But it all felt so real and he was sure that Snape had not been unmoved. No, he had been as aroused as Harry and...

"Oh God."

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N: **I hope you're all enjoying this story so far. If you are, don't be a stranger! Drop me a review and be sure to check out the next chapter of **Breaking the Rules **when it's posted – hopefully in the next week or so. Lots of snarry moments to come, I promise! ;)

**Please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Snape! Snape, let me in!"

Harry had been standing outside the man's personal quarters, brutalizing the door with his fist – or was it the other way around – for almost fifteen minutes now, to no avail. The stubborn git refused to let him in, or even speak to him for that matter. Harry knew he was in there though, standing only a few feet from the other side of the door, and from the agitated movements of the little dot labeled 'Severus Snape' on the Marauders' map in his other hand, he could tell the man was pacing.

"Snape! Open the door, damnit!" Harry barely refrained from aiming a kick at the door. If he was trembling and mindless from the man's sensual touches earlier, then he was positively desperate now, desperate to know the truth.

"Come on, Snape. Please?" he pleaded, "I just... I just need to talk to you. Five minutes, OK? Just five minutes and then I'll leave you alone if you want, I swear! Just please let me in."

Silence.

Harry leaned forward, resting his forehead on the worn wood of the sealed door and closing his eyes in resignation, the map falling from his trembling fingers. He swallowed, the rawness of his throat matching his throbbing fist, courtesy of his ceaseless pleading and knocking.

"Snape," he whispered.

Still nothing.

With a sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his shoes, Harry reached down to snatch up the map, smoothing out the crumpled edges from where he had inadvertently stepped on it before pulling out his wand.

"Mischief–" he stopped midway when he noticed Snape's dot had stopped moving. It was motionless now... and positioned just beyond the door.

"Snape?" Harry tried again. "Five minutes. _Please."_

A snarl-like growl reached Harry's ears. It was followed by the soft snick of the door's latch being magically opened.

Sheer knee-weakening relief washing over him, Harry pushed the door open and walked into the room, his eyes immediately searching for Snape. He found him within seconds, sitting on a dark leather sofa and staring fixedly at a fire crackling and hissing within the large stone hearth in the center of the room, forearms resting on spread thighs.

Snape had shed his outer robe since their confrontation in the Charms corridor and was clad only in those snug black trousers and black silk shirt. His ebony hair now hung down on either side of his thin face, hair tie foregone. As Harry approached him, those dark eyes remained focused on the flickering flames but Snape's body took on defensive stance, leaning back to allow long arms to fold across his chest, jaw snapping rigid and thin lips pursed.

Undeterred, but nervous as hell, Harry made his way over to the sofa on trembling legs and sat down almost gingerly beside its taciturn occupant. He turned to face Snape and hoped that in doing so, those ebony eyes would veer in his direction. When they did not, Harry sighed in exasperation and ran a hand through his messy hair, his anxiety growing with each silent, tension filled second.

"One minute gone, Potter," Snape intoned. "You have only four left. Better vent your grievance soon before your time is up."

"Vent my–!? Oh, for Merlin's sake! Fine! _Fine,_ I'll vent my bloody grievance!" Harry exclaimed, frustration bubbling inside him again. "My grievance is with a certain pretend lover of mine who seems to have forgotten his own rules!"

Snape snapped his head around, eyes going wide with confusion as they locked with Harry's.

"What? I did no such–"

"Rule number two," Harry supplied, deliberately cutting off the man's attempt at denial before it could go any farther, "the rule about no tongue. You broke it and I want to know why."

For a second, Harry could have sworn he saw a fleeting glimpse of that same softened, open expression on Snape's features. But it passed just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the man's typical harsh mien, anger blazing within slitted eyes.

"What does it matter that I used every asset at my disposal to ward off your stalker? Our display was believable enough to work. That is all you should concern yourself with. And you have some nerve confronting me about breaking one of the rules, Potter, considering I was not the only player in this little fabricated tryst to do so."

"But you were the one who came up with the rules in the first place!" Harry growled, that bubbling frustration reaching a dangerous level. "It makes no fucking sense that you would decide to break one of them on a mere whim after insisting that they be followed! I just don't understand why... Wait. What did you just say?"

"I said," Snape hissed, leaning closer to Harry, an almost vindictive smirk curving his lips, "that I was not the only one to break one of the rules."

Harry stared at him, completely nonplussed. He opened his mouth to argue and closed it again, having not a single idea of what to even say. At length, he seemed to find his words – stammered and broken though they were.

"But I–I never... Snape! I never used my tongue! I didn't even kiss you or... or use my mouth or anything! And I know I touched your arms and y-your hips and your... but... but I... I never held your hand! And I–"

"Rule number three, Mr. Potter." Snape's admonishment was belied by his smirk at Harry's flustered state. "No mind play."

"What?! I didn't–"

"You did."

"What are you talking about? When did I–?"

Snape inched closer to Harry on the sofa, his eyes disengaging from Harry's bemused ones to gaze at his mouth for the briefest of moments. Then they returned to stare unflinchingly into confused green orbs, their usual coldness fading slightly as a fiery heat danced like feral flames in their black depths.

"When you begged me to ravish you," he whispered, pausing to lick his lips, his gaze once again drifting down to Harry's mouth. "Don't tell me you have forgotten your desperate plea for me to... _just do it."_

_No. When did I – oh!_

Harry remembered now. He _had_ begged. Snape had barely touched his neck with those warm, soft lips – lips that were just hovering there, teasing him, the man's breath ghosting over Harry's skin, driving him mad with desire. In that moment, all Harry could think about was how desperately he wanted the man to kiss him, to attack him with that hot mouth and those sensual lips and...

"But I never said it out loud," Harry muttered under his breath, flushed red and still confused. "I know I didn't. I only thought it."

"Oh, you said it alright," Snape countered in an infuriating drawl, "just after you thrust yourself into my mind and made yourself at home there. And there I was, believing you ignorant of the pleasures of mind play."

Harry gaped at him.

"But, Snape, I didn't know, I swear it! I didn't even make eye contact with you then!"

Black eyes narrowed slightly but remained fixed on Harry's, their gaze questioning.

"I wasn't even aware that it was possible to enter someone's mind without eye contact!" Harry protested, desperate to get Snape to believe him.

"You really had no idea?" Snape asked after a moment, voice softer now. There were traces of what looked like tenderness and compassion glinting within the shadowy depths of his eyes, a fragile glimmer of hope that seemed to linger just beyond the cracks forming in his facade of causticity.

Harry shook his head in reply, feeling that familiar tightness in his throat at seeing the return of that rare openness on the man's usually closed off expression. He edged closer to Snape and then, with sudden daring, placed a hand on his shoulder, letting his fingertips thread through the ends of that soft black hair, his thumb tracing along the rigid contour of the man's collarbone beneath its cover of smooth silk.

"So how did I do it then?" Harry asked, his own voice mirroring Snape's whispered tones as he continued to stare into those cavernous depths that seemed to draw him in without effort. "Would you... would you show me? Please?"

Snape gave no response, nor did he make a move to comply with Harry's request. He remained as still as statue, body rigid and tense, but with that same warmth radiating from his penetrative gaze.

After a long moment, the Adam's apple in the long, pale throat jerked upward and a tremulous exhalation issued from those parted lips.

Still ensnared within that beguiling dark gaze, Harry started when he felt the man's fingers encircle his wrist, gripping lightly to pull it up to that long neck, palm flush against the faint scars from Nagini's attack. He slid his other hand up to mirror the position so that both of his hands were now cupping Snape's neck, his thumbs resting along the man's sharp jawline, fingers sliding in between strands of soft, jet-black hair at the back of his neck. The new position brought their bodies closer still, Harry's head now pitched slightly upwards. A soft shudder went through him at the increased intimacy, his heartbeat speeding up and his breathing pulsing and uneven in his anticipation.

"Close your eyes," Snape whispered.

Harry obeyed and then waited, breath captive in his chest and heart in his throat.

"Now... come closer."

A shudder of stomach twisting excitement rushed through Harry as he followed Snape's directive, inching closer to him – close enough to feel Snape's body heat against his skin and warm breath flitting over his lips. The added sensations were almost too much for Harry, especially with his eyes still obediently closed. He started trembling, wishing Snape would do _something_ apart from breathing seductively and giving out commands. He ached for his touch... longed to feel those lips on his skin again... those long fingers twisted in his hair, pulling his neck back... exposing more skin for the man to kiss and lick and bite and–

"Oh..." Snape breathed out against his lips, the single word weak, shaky, thick with arousal. "Fuck."

It was the 'fuck' that did it. Harry had never heard the man use that word before and the sheer shock of hearing him utter it now, with such blatant desire in his voice, nearly had him undone. His eyes snapped open at once and he stared, entranced, at the intoxicating sight in front of him.

Snape was trembling. His eyes were closed and he was breathing very fast, lower lip captured beneath crooked teeth and cheeks flushed with color. After a long moment, Snape released his lip and opened his eyes, pinning Harry with a black sultry gaze that caused heat to pool in his gut, his muscles tightening, pleasure pulsing and coiling deep inside him.

"My turn," Snape whispered huskily and before Harry even had time to question what he meant, the man's hands were on him. One was buried in his hair and the other was sliding around his lower back, drawing him closer so that their bodies were now a hair's breadth apart. He pressed warm lips to the shell of Harry's ear as he held him in that possessive grip, his breath hot against Harry's skin as he spoke again.

"So you ache for my touch? And you long to feel my lips pressed against your skin?"

For a second, Harry stiffened in embarrassment. How the hell had Snape known that?

Then the realization of what must have just occurred became clear to him. Despite the fact that he had not given voice to his desires, they had been heard. Snape must have been inside his mind!

"You... you heard all that?" Harry questioned, nervousness and driving excitement surging through him now. "How did you enter my mind? How did you–?"

Snape chuckled against his ear, warm puffs of breath dancing along his skin and making him shiver.

"No, Harry. I was not inside your mind. _You_ were inside _mine_, just as you were during our little display earlier tonight. But as I said before, it is now _my_ turn. Turnabout is fair play after all."

Harry had more questions. A lot more, all of them tumbling around in his mind... like how the hell had he fallen into Snape's mind unintentionally... not once, but twice? And how exactly was Snape planning to do the same to him since, once again, they were not making eye contact?

He was also burning with curiosity about this entire encounter they were sharing. Did this renewed intimacy mean Snape was now willing to admit that they shared more in that corridor than just elaborate fabrication? Was Snape now open to exploring new territory with him? Would he... would he let Harry into that guarded heart of his?

Despite the myriad of questions swirling around his encumbered brain, each one begging for an answer, Harry was soon struck incapable of asking anything as an explosion of intense emotion and sensation plowed through him. His breath hitched, his fingertips digging into the skin at the back of Snape's neck for purchase as wave after wave of emotional pain, fear, regret and guilt barreled through him, engulfing him in a sea of unrest and discontent. He heard himself utter a small, stuttered cry from the uneasy panic building inside him.

Then quite suddenly, that panic faded and what felt like a warm embrace surrounded him, love and want and desire and hope melding into a single entity that held him close as if terrified to let him go. And as the entity clung to him, making him feel more wanted and safe and loved than he had ever felt, a mere echo of voice whirred inside his mind like scattered wind, like the susurrant murmur of a lover's breath, like the ghosted shadow of a desperate dream.

_"Harry... I need you. God, I need you so much. Show me that you need me, too. Show me. Please, Harry. I cannot do this unless I know you're certain of what you want. I cannot risk losing my last chance... my last chance to know love."_

Harry's heart clenched as he realized he was hearing Snape's deepest fears and desires resonating like distant echos of mnemonic yearning inside his own mind, knowing without asking that the man's heart was now laid bare before him, revealed and open, vulnerable. He exhaled a shaky breath, feeling the tendrils of Snape's love and desire winding more tightly around him, holding him with anticipation drawn taut, fear and uncertainty woven into their hopeful embrace just as another wisp of voice flitted across his consciousness.

_"Show me... please, Harry."_

"I will," Harry whispered, heartbeat thundering at a frantic pace. He turned in toward Snape's... _Severus'_... warmth, sliding his arms around that pale, slender neck and pulling him closer. Then he pressed his lips to the man's cheek, placing a soft kiss there – one chaste feather light brush of lips that soon turned into much more as Harry swept his lips down to caress another pair, warm and soft and already parted with shallow, erratic breaths escaping them.

A faint groan of desperate need met Harry's ears and for the life of him, he had no idea if it had come from his own throat, Severus,' or if it only existed as a thread of vocalized emotion inside his own mind. The sound of it however, shattered the last of his anxiety, that final vestige of doubt and reservation lingering within him. He lunged forward, crushing their lips together and sliding his tongue into that wanting mouth.

The kiss was deep and desperate, filled with a desire so intense, so raw and pure, Harry's whole body shook with the force of it. More heat pooled in his belly, twisting and coiling with growing arousal, his muscles clenching with mounting pleasure.

_"Yes, Harry. Yes... show me more... show me what you want..."_

Harry gasped, feeling a sudden burst of pleasure tear through him at those reverberating thoughts – pleasure that was not only his own, but Severus' as well. Euphoric sensations, pleasure like he had never before experienced, pulsed and thrummed just below his skin. It grew hot and restless as it blazed like feral energy through his arms and legs and down his spine where it settled in his abdomen and lower, his half-hard arousal now fully erect and pressing painfully against his trousers.

Mindless with need, desire pumping through him like the very blood surging through his veins, Harry withdrew from Severus' mouth and began to ravage the man's jaw and neck, licking and sucking and biting the soft, scarred skin with fervor. A distant part of his mind realized he had pushed Severus down on the sofa and was now lying on top of him with their clothed erections pressed together; the other, larger part of his mind just reveled in the jolt of sensation, much more intense than the last, rocketing through him like an explosion.

"Oh my God... S-Sev... Severus!" Harry cried, burrowing his face in that warm neck as tremors of bliss swept through him, sucking the very air out of his heaving lungs. The waves were slow to recede and as his breathing slowed down, embarrassment cut through the haze of need dominating his thoughts and he realized with astonishment just how close he had come to having an actual orgasm.

Warm hands pulled him from his chagrin, cupping Harry's face and turning him to meet Severus'. The sheer amount of openness Harry glimpsed within those dark depths had him breathless once again, his heart aching with shared emotion.

"This is truly what you want, Harry?" Severus whispered. "I do not open my heart... or my bedroom... on a whim. I need to know for certain–"

"I'm certain," Harry interrupted him yet again. "I want you, Severus. All of you. Including your heart."

Despite his emphatic declaration, something like lingering doubt shone through those ebony orbs. Harry wanted nothing more than to dispel it, to banish it and prevent it from ever returning. With a sudden burst of inspiration borne from sheer need, he reached up with one hand and grasped Severus' hand, pulling it down until it rested upon the man's chest. Then he slid his own hand beneath it so that their palms were touching before curling his fingers around and in between Severus', interlacing them, joining them.

Severus' breath hitched as his eyes darted down to the sight of their hands moulded together like those of lovers, locked in embrace and united as one. When his gaze lifted once more, Harry was startled to see wetness at the corners of his eyes, black orbs now shining with undisguised emotion.

"Another rule broken," Harry whispered, before pressing his lips to Severus' in a slow, deliberate kiss. He poured everything into it – his heart, his every want and dream, every desire and fantasy, every yearning for love and understanding that had been denied him for so long.

When that kiss finally ended, Harry opened his eyes and was surprised once more to see an altogether different expression on Severus' thin face. Those ebony eyes were darker now, deep and penetrative and blazing with fiery heat and hunger, their owner's arousal obvious in their sultry gaze.

Harry's throat gave a hard swallow in nervous anticipation, new excitement flooding him. If the look in Severus' eyes was any indication, their bout of sensual rule-breaking had only just begun.

**Chapter End - TBC**

**A/N: **Three out of four chapters done – yay! Look for the next and final chapter of **Breaking the Rules **to be posted sometime in the next two weeks. Stay tuned for the exciting finish! ;)

**Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Seconds seemed to stretch into long minutes of suspended reality as Harry gazed deeply into Severus' eyes, the passing of time a lost concept while ensnared within the heat of that sultry gaze. His erection which had softened slightly over the last few minutes of emotional revelation, roused to full hardness once more. Heart racing, he dropped his gaze to the man's mouth, to those soft, thin lips that were still wet from their kissing and edged closer, feeling an overwhelming compulsion to taste them again, to run his tongue along their seam and invade the warm, wet cavern beyond.

He never got the chance though.

In one lightning-fast move, Severus tightened his grip around Harry's back and stood up like a shot, half-carrying, half-dragging Harry along with him. Somehow, their joined hands had stayed clasped through the change in position and Severus tightened his grip on Harry's smaller one as he led him past the hearth, through an open doorway and into a dimly lit room.

Then those soft lips were against Harry's in a deep, driving kiss, their bodies upright and pressed together, limbs entwined and entangled like twisted vines of Devil's snare.

A soft "Lie down" was murmured against Harry's panting mouth just as he became aware of a mattress against the backs of his legs. He complied, sinking down to sit on the edge of the large bed situated in the center of the room and then shifting further inward so that he could recline back. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he heard whispered words and saw, through the murky shadows of the darkened room, Severus' wand swishing through the air.

At once, dozens of candles throughout the room were lit, their ambient light chasing away the room's looming veil of darkness, leaving it awash with warm luminescence. As Harry stared around him, mesmerized, he saw out of the corner of his eye, Severus' wand brandished once more, its tip aimed directly at himself.

Green eyes widened in surprise as the man's next incantation was voiced in a seductive whisper. A chill skated across Harry's skin and he looked down, shocked and embarrassed to find himself wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. Head jerking upward, he stared, wide eyes growing even wider, at Severus, who was wearing no more than he was.

"That's some spell," he muttered, voice quavering in his nervousness. He swallowed, feeling that same tightness in his throat, his mouth turning dry when Severus came closer.

The man offered him a lopsided grin before joining him on the bed and climbing on top of him. Harry drew in a sharp breath at the never-before-felt sensation of hot bare skin against his, his embarrassment melting away as he wrapped his arms around Severus' back and squeezed, forcing their bodies more tightly together. The small gesture caused their erections to once again press together and Harry let a needy whimper escape his lips, his body trembling.

Severus slid his long arms under Harry's back and returned the embrace, whispering to him assurances Harry hadn't even realized he needed to hear until they were brushed against the shell of his ear in a rush of warm breath.

"It's OK, Harry. I'll be gentle with you. I promise I'll make you feel good."

Pulling back from Harry's ear, he placed a tender kiss to his mouth and then gazed deeply into his eyes.

"Do you want me inside you?" he breathed, the hushed words trembling slightly.

A rush of excitement raced through Harry at those erotic words, shaking his limbs and curling his toes. He wriggled under Severus' weight, his need almost painful now, body begging to be touched.

"Yes. God, Severus... _yes!"_

Severus pushed himself to sit up on his knees. He snatched up his discarded wand from the bedside table and whispered the now familiar charm to remove clothing.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows as another cool rush of air danced across his body, bringing a wave of magic that grazed his sensitive skin. Then he was staring down at his own naked body, its focal point the rigid erection which was now fully engorged and dripping with pre-come.

Embarrassment threatened to consume him once more, but before it could take root, Severus was between his thighs, his wand pointed at the fingers of his own left hand and a new spell escaping his lips. When his wand was lowered, those fingers were glistening – clear, shiny lubricant smeared across each long, slender digit.

Harry let his eyelids fall over his eyes, tendrils of anxiety winding around his heart. He wanted this – Merlin, how he wanted this! – but he could not help feeling nervous. He had absolutely no experience with giving or receiving physical pleasure and it was more than obvious that Severus had.

What if he turned out to be a disappointment?

What if he reacted wrong or did something stupid that turned Severus off? What if–?

"Harry... look at me."

Green eyes snapped open, locking with soulful black ones whose depths shone with equal parts warm regard and fiery passion. The look calmed Harry as much as it excited him and he soon found himself caring very little for 'what ifs,' especially when a cool, slick finger began circling his entrance.

"Oh...!"

"Good. Now that I have your attention, I will tell you that there is no possible way you could ever turn me off, Harry. You're stunning... perfect... and I desire nothing more than to make you writhe beneath me in pleasure. Now, if you wouldn't mind exiting my mind... at least until after I reduce you to a quivering puddle of mindless need on my sheets... or until I enter you, whichever comes first, I would greatly appreciate it."

Harry felt his lips curve up into a wide grin at hearing Severus' speech – a delicious mix of tender voice, lavish praise and deadpan words – only to reshape them in an 'o' of surprise as a sharp surge of indescribable pleasure pulsed through him, his breaths coming out in panting gasps. Severus had pushed one of his long fingers into his entrance and hooked it, pressing against a spot that had him writhing and breathless.

"Yes! Oh shit! Fuck... Sev..."

Biting down on his lower lip to curtail another string of pleasure-induced expletives, Harry closed his eyes in ecstasy, feeling more and more of those blissful sensations as Severus pumped his finger in and out of his channel, twisting and turning and rubbing that spot again and again. When a second finger was added, he flinched, his muscles tightening reflexively to counter the ripples of pain accompanying that pleasure, but the discomfort ended as soon as Severus' skillful fingertips found that wonderful place inside him once more.

By the time a third slickened finger was added, Harry was indeed a quivering puddle of mindless need on Severus' sheets, his legs spread wide with feet flat on the mattress and his hips bucking up into Severus' thrusting hand. The man had not touched his erection in the last few minutes, yet Harry already felt close to losing it.

"Oh God, Sev, please... please fill me... please... I need you inside me!"

At once, those driving fingers withdrew and a pillow was placed under his backside, causing his hips to be raised up. Severus seized his wand one final time and in a shaky, broken whisper, incanted the lubricant spell while pointing the switch of ebony at his own engorged length.

Harry had no memory of Severus divesting himself of his boxer shorts – nor did he care at this point – but now he found himself unable to look away as he stared at that exposed erection, thick and long and impossibly hard, dripping with shiny lubricant. Harry's desperate yearning seemed to multiply tenfold as he watched Severus' wet fingers stroke that long shaft, using the same fingers that were buried inside him only moments ago to spread glistening substance onto every inch of reddened, aroused flesh. Unbidden, wicked thoughts started whirling inside his head, anticipation flooding him as he wondered how good it was going to feel, stretched by that hard length, filled by it, have it pounded into him again and again and again...

"Fuck, Harry! You just can't stay out of my mind, can you?!"

Severus lunged forward, crushing their mouths together in a frenzied kiss of gasps and moans, hot breath and driving tongues. His hand slid between their bodies, long fingers finding Harry's aching erection and curling around it, squeezing and stroking the hard flesh. Then he shifted forward on his knees, the action forcing Harry's legs to bend back toward his own body and his hips to arch upward.

Trembling with pleasure, his every muscle taut and quivering, Harry pulled back from their fiery kiss. His breaths were coming out hard and fast against Severus' mouth and his heart was like a caged animal, driving against his ribs as if trying to escape. He brought his hands up to Severus' cheeks, sliding them to the back of his neck to grip long strands of ebony hair as he waited for Severus' next move.

He didn't have long to wait. Within seconds, he could feel the slick, blunt head of Severus' length nudging at his entrance, the man's hand guiding it to trace slow wet circles around the quivering muscle. The sensation sent new ripples of pleasure spiraling through Harry and he threw his head back, his mouth stretching open in silent euphoria.

_Are you ready for me, Harry?_ came a whisper of blurred thought, flickering into being inside his mind. _Are you ready for me to fill you? To become part of you?_

Nothing but an incoherent moan escaped Harry's tight throat and gasping mouth, but he answered Severus nevertheless, his mind sliding into place within his lover's mind without thought or understanding, instinct taking over where logic had previously failed.

_Yes, Severus! Yes... please... I need you..._

Harry heard a sensual growl from above him, followed by an intense feeling of fullness in his lower region. He exhaled sharply at the burning sensation, gritting his teeth, his fingers grasping onto strands of Severus' hair at the nape of his neck to quell his own body's shaking. Then Severus was pushing forward, easing himself deeper and deeper inside him with careful, slow deliberation. With that sizable erection breaching him for the first time, Harry could feel every bit of its painfully slow progress, each torturous second like an eternity until it was fully sheathed inside him at last, the silence between them filled with broken gasps and groans of pleasure.

By the time Severus was buried as deep inside him as was possible, the musty scents of sweat and exertion and sex hung heavy in the air. Severus slumped forward and claimed Harry's mouth again in another driving kiss, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

_Tell me when you're ready for me to move, Harry,_ echoed Severus' disembodied tones. They sounded more rich and real than ever before, reverberating inside his mind right alongside those intense undulations of mounting pleasure, melding with them, heightening them. _I don't want to hurt you... but I want you to feel me moving inside you. I want to make you delirious with pleasure._

_Oh God, Severus! Now. Move now, I'm ready for you!_

Severus pulled out slowly, as slowly as he had entered, pulling gasps from both of them. Then after a long, slow moment of torturous stillness, he slid back in, quicker this time.

Harry released his tight grasp on Severus' hair and grabbed his shoulders instead, fingertips digging into the sweat-dampened skin as a flood of sensation whipped through him. He exhaled sharply and then sucked in another breath just as Severus withdrew again, plunging back in a split second later. Before he could draw in another shaky breath, Severus did it again, this time at a slightly different angle, driving hard into the spot he had caressed earlier with his fingers.

_FUCK, YES! Oh, Sev... more... harder... faster..._

Severus obliged Harry's desperate plea, pistoning his hips with much more force and speed. His hands were now flat on top of the mattress with fingers splayed, his body curved forward as he rocked and bucked and thrust, huffing out ragged, shallow breaths against Harry's parted lips.

Harry was trembling, muscles clenched hard and tight in his abdomen, unmistakable spirals of heat traveling up his spine. He groaned, arching his neck as Severus' thrusts increased in speed.

_I'm so close, Sev. Kiss me... please..._

Those thin lips felt hot as they met Harry's, salty from sweat and quivering from pleasure. They pressed lightly at first, Severus' tongue darting out to taste and caress as his heated breath flooded Harry's mouth, melding with Harry's own frantic, panting breaths.

Severus' hand then grabbed Harry's own, unfurling the clenched fingers from their vice-like grip on his own shoulder and placing it on Harry's chest before lacing their fingers together – the gesture a replica of what Harry had done to him earlier on the sofa. After giving that hand a gentle squeeze, Severus inched forward, deepening their breathy kiss, his tongue strong as it drove in and out of Harry's mouth, moving to the same fast rhythm as his thrusting hips.

_Come for me, Harry. Come on, love. I want to feel you tighten around me._

The resonance of that deep, rich voice echoing inside his mind, cajoling him, ordering him to come was all it took – Harry broke their kiss and threw his head back, his orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave of sensation, every muscle in his body tight and trembling, his breath trapped inside his heaving chest. He cried out, a long howl of released ecstasy that was soon joined by a similar exclamation from Severus, buried deep inside him, body shaking though his own climax.

After several long, blissful moments just feeling his body shivering from the aftershocks of release, Harry opened his eyes to see Severus reach for his wand with an uncharacteristic fumbling of fingers. Severus cast a cleaning charm on the both of them and slumped forward, long arms sliding under Harry's sweaty back and pulling their bodies close again, his face burrowing in the hollow of Harry's neck.

Harry felt his muscles release, his trembles falling away. His frenzied breaths began to lengthen and deepen and his heart rate slowed to a normal, easy rhythm. As he threaded his fingers through Severus' damp hair, tucking a few loose strands that had fallen across his cheek behind his ear, he contemplated the series of events that had brought them here, the complicated web of occurrences that had led to this surprising connection and had forged this unbelievable foray into pleasure never before known to him... both physical and emotional alike.

Turning his head, he pressed his lips to Severus' ear and finally asked the question that had been burning inside him since this all began.

"How can mind play take place without eye contact, Severus? You never did explain it to me."

Lifting his head, Severus looked deeply into Harry's eyes, one corner of his lips inching upward as he gave his reply.

"In order for mind play to successfully occur, both individuals must be engaged in some form of intimate touch and they both must possess..."

He paused and Harry was astonished to see new color tinging the man's cheeks, dark eyes averting to stare down at Harry's collarbone.

"What? Both of them must possess... what, Severus?"

"...the desire to be loved by the other," Severus whispered, still staring at Harry's chest.

Green eyes widened in surprise, the obvious implication behind Severus' words hitting him like a ton of bricks.

"You love me," Harry whispered, stunned.

Severus nodded without looking up and Harry was enchanted to see a lean cheek darkening still further with blush. Then he frowned.

"Wait a minute. So when you made that rule... _no mind play_... you... you were..."

"I was giving you a clue, yes," Severus affirmed, his eyes finally lifting to once again lock with Harry's, lips turning up again in an easy smile. "I'll admit it was a rather indirect and highly unconventional way of letting you know of my feelings for you. But I'm a Slytherin, Harry. I certainly wasn't going to spell it out for you. I had hoped you would have understood my meaning and then I would know based on your reaction, whether or not I had a shot with you. I figured you'd either turn tail and run screaming through the door – letting me know quite clearly of your disgust at the thought of being with me – or you'd make a move, knowing how I felt for you."

Harry had to smile at that. He actually _had_ ended up following the second option, banging away on Severus' door like a crazed, love-sick lunatic, despite his ignorance regarding the significance of mind play.

"Well, I chose the latter, even though I didn't really understand what you were implying," he admitted softly, his own cheeks flushing with color, "and I _would_ have chosen it as well if I _had_ understood. But since I never did put any of my Gryffindor determination into learning mind magic," he added, his own smile growing to mirror Severus,' "your plan was a complete flop!"

Severus chuckled at that.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," he whispered, brushing his lips along the seam of Harry's mouth, his tongue teasing his lower lip with slow, seductive caress. "Thanks to the famous Harry Potter's penchant for breaking rules, I got what I desired in the end, now didn't I?"

"Hey!" Harry protested, bristling a little at Severus' smug tone. "Don't forget, you broke a rule, too!"

"Ah, yes. No tongue. How could I have forgotten?" Severus replied, voice dripping with devilish sarcasm. "Hmm. I wonder how many different ways I can break that particular rule..."

With that very promising remark, he lowered his head and stopped Harry's chuckle with a long, slow, wet exploration of his neck, chest and stomach, his tongue mapping out every inch of the dampened skin as he made his sensual descent. And as he neared Harry's renewed erection, sliding a slick path along the underside of his aroused flesh, Harry found himself thanking Merlin, the French Menace and every God in the heavens for the existence of rules...

...and for the sheer pleasure of breaking them.

**Story End**

**A/N: **My apologies for the late arrival of this fourth and final chapter, though I sincerely hope it was an enjoyable read despite its delay! Thanks to all you have read, reviewed, favorited and followed this fun little story. Your praise and support is very much appreciated! I'd also like to, once again, thank my very talented beta, **YenGirl**, for her fabulous input, edits and encouragement. You're the best, Yen! You truly are! :)

Look for the first chapter of one of my new, WIP, full-length stories to be posted soon – hopefully by the end of April. I have two that I am currently working on – an angsty Severitus called **Forsaken Scion** and a slightly angsty, yet heartfelt, RENT-inspired Snarry called **One Blaze Of** – though I have not yet decided which one I want to concentrate my efforts on first. If you have a preference, by all means, drop me a PM – I would love to hear your opinion! ;)

**Please review.**


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